


Will all the water in the ocean wash this blood from my hands?

by summerdayghost



Category: Basic Eight - Daniel Handler
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Codependency, Eating Disorders, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:02:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21842641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerdayghost/pseuds/summerdayghost
Summary: Moments with Natasha’s beauty.
Relationships: Flannery Culp/Natasha Hyatt
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Will all the water in the ocean wash this blood from my hands?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suitablyskippy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suitablyskippy/gifts).



> The title is a quote from Macbeth.

Flan often thought about how nice it must have been to be Natasha. Because Natasha was beautiful with a boldness and confidence that elevated her to gorgeous. Nothing could touch her, nothing could hurt her. She was above it all like a goddess. Although which goddess Flan was not sure. But Flan did not envy Natasha for all the ways that she wanted to be her. If Flan was Natasha then she would not have have Natasha at her side, would not have Natasha’s protection.

***

Natasha was chain smoking on the balcony. It the darkness with no light but the end of the cigarette she looked ethereal. No, the dictionary definition of ethereal was “extremely delicate and light in a way that seems too perfect for this world”. While the “too perfect for this world” bit was accurate, “extremely delicate and light” was not. For all her beauty Natasha was anything but delicate. She was strong, she could rip someone to shreds without getting a scratch on her. Flan was the delicate one and she hated it.

***

Natasha gently placed the bowl of ice cream down in front of her but the attitude she brought to it she might as well have slammed it, “Your favorite.”

What that favorite was Flan could not pin down. Every time she looked back on this moment it was something different. Sometimes it was cookie dough and sometimes it was rainbow sherbet. Turning to her diary did not clear things up because she did not specify the flavor. Likely because the thought of enjoying food enough to have a favorite seemed repulsively gluttonous at the moment. Still did.

She wanted to tell Natasha that she was already fat enough but before she could open her mouth Natasha was sitting down across from her, “If you don’t eat anything you’ll be skin and bones.”

So Flan did not bother protesting, just scooped some into her mouth. Natasha stared at her as she ate as if she were trying to make sure it was not a trick. Her eyes contained anything and everything Flan ever wanted and it was not fair.

When Flan was done Natasha got up and got her another bowl. She did not need to do that except yes she did.

***

Flan was practically in Natasha’s lap at the movie theater with the way she leaned over and snuggled into her side. They had the cup holder arm up because there was no sense in having it down. It would have just gotten in the way. Natasha was whispering comments about the movie into her ear between bites of popcorn and Flan could not really understand her references because she was not paying attention to the movie no. All of her focus was on Natasha instead.

The movie was old and in black and white. It was a film noir, Flan could tell that much. The lady on screen with the long cigarette and the long black hair was no doubt a femme fatale. Looking at her felt like looking at Natasha. She could do it for the rest of her life.

***

Natasha’s lipstick was on the butt of her cigarette and Flan found herself wishing it were on her teeth instead. She was dying to know what it tasted like.

“Hey,” she laughed as she turned to face Flan, “Do you remember that time at summer camp when we went swimming in the lake? It was so cold. We were shivering when we got out and I had to wrap you up in towels and the counselor was mad at us and yelled and then later that night I crawled into your bunk and—”

“No,” she shook her head, “Don’t remember.”

Because Flan did not remember any of summer camp and even if she could she did not want to and not because there was anything she was running from but because there was simply nothing worth remembering and she never wanted it to be brought up again. She licked the front of her teeth.

***

Flan was curled up on her bed sobbing because that was one way to spend a Wednesday night. Natasha was right behind her holding her, spooning her really, and shushing into her hair telling her that she was going to fix everything.

***

Natasha was not afraid to fight and she not afraid to fight dirty. When Natasha leapt at the guy Flan just stood back and watched paralyzed and as Natasha washed the blood off of her hands in the girl’s bathroom Flan was still just standing back and watching. Part of her mind was racing with fear that a teacher would come in to get them and then oh god what would happen to that teacher. Something bad Flan hoped even though she knew it was horrible.

The other part of her mind was fixated on the image of Natasha as Lady Macbeth. Sure the blood had managed to wash completely away, but the thought remained as did the question that came with it. If Natasha was Lady Macbeth who was her Macbeth?

***

Afterwards, pressed chest to chest, skin to skin, legs tangled together under the sheets Flan said so quiet that in retrospect she had doubts that she said it out loud at all, “I’m sorry for being so needy.”

Natasha frowned, “You aren’t needy.”

Flan scooted in closer to the edge of the bed, “I really am.”

“No,” she could almost feel Natasha’s nails on her back, “You have to be strong so much. Letting me take the burden from time to time is not needy or whatever. It’s human.”

They kissed then and maybe it was just a loving way for Natasha to shut up and keep her from laughing at the idea that she could possibly be strong, but Natasha chose to let herself indulge anyway. Indulgence was all she had.

***

Natasha sometimes thought about how nice it must have been to be Flan. Because at least Flan was real and not the creation of another person’s trauma and fear. But Natasha did not envy Flan. That was not her purpose. Her purpose was to protect.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
